


Dance Till You Drop

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Artist!Ryan, Grief, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, artist!shane, dancer!shane, dancing plague AU, idk what im doing, minimal amnt of fluff, you can pry page breaks from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Shane and Ryan are 16th-century painters, and Shane has a knack for dancing.





	Dance Till You Drop

**Author's Note:**

> hello, all! i can't believe i'm doing this. this is my first time writing a real person fic so let me know what you guys think. <3 thank you for reading!

_ Strasbourg, France circa July 1518. _

 

"Monsieur," Shane greeted, moving aside to allow Ryan into his home. "How are you?"

Ryan flashed the taller man a toothy grin and stepped inside, setting the box of supplies he carried on the ground. "I'm doing well. Yourself?" The two made small talk as they set up a large wooden panel. Shane got to work on laying out their paints; an array of different yellows, blues, and greens. He wasn't quite sure what Ryan had planned for this piece, so he stuck with their favorite pigments, hoping it was enough. "We're going to need red, too," Ryan reminded his companion, to which the latter nodded and dug around for a few extra colors while Ryan took out the brushes. 

Creating artwork together wasn't something the two men had planned, but they found that their combined work made much more profit than their separate works. Shane and Ryan's paintings were in high demand, with even the king commissioning their work. It was all very stressful, but the men had each other to support and motivate. Shane listened as Ryan went into detail about what they'd be painting that day: a young French woman playing the guitar, with daffodils (Ryan’s favorite flower) in her hair. "She will be beautiful," Ryan assured, "like my mother." 

The other man lit up at that; he always admired the close bond Ryan had with his family. Shane refused to speak to his siblings after they accused him of laying with a man and threatened to have him arrested. It was quite foolish to Shane. As long as he was happy, he didn't see the issue. "Okay, momma's boy," Shane teased, "Let's get to work."

 

* * *

 

A few hours had passed, and the two men had made a mess of both themselves and their painting area. Pigment spotted the floorboards and their clothing, and Shane was thankful to have worn an old shirt. He figured now would be a good time for a break and set down his brush, watching his friend as he squinted intensely at the panel before him. Ryan was a perfectionist for sure, and Shane knew how much pressure the former put on himself, but it did give the pair more success in selling their work. 

Shane's gaze drifted to the window lazily, but he perked up at the sight of a dancing figure outside their building. "Ryan!" Shane exclaimed. "Look outside, will you? I think that's Madame Troffea." He snapped his fingers and thrust his fist in the direction of the window. 

"Would you hush?" Ryan retorted, eyes still fixed on the piece before him. "I'd like to get this done sometime this century. Don't be a fool."

The taller man shook his head. "But she's dancing! Let's go see her, please. It's not often we get a free show around here." Shane peered out the window and scooted closer to it, doing his best to watch the elegant woman below swaying her hips. Her chin was lifted towards the sky and she almost looked as though she was in distress from what he could see. It was strange, certainly, but he didn't think much of it. Frau Troffea was a peculiar woman, after all.

"Alright, we'll go see her. Let's make this quick, please," Ryan said, shaking his head as he followed his excited friend out the door.

 

* * *

 

The two stood with a crowd of about twenty or so other villagers, all admiring Madame Troffea. "She's been at it for a few hours. I'm getting worried," Ryan commented, to which Shane shrugged; he was tuning out all of his surroundings, including Ryan, and giving his full, undivided attention to the woman in front of him. She danced like nobody was watching, and it sort of seemed like she didn't realize the multiplying number of people swarming around her. Her distraught face still met the blue sky above- and was Shane the only one that noticed her face? Everyone else was so focused on her body, and perhaps it would be best to keep his mouth shut.

As the sun was beginning to set, Ryan pulled gently on Shane's hand. "We should head back," he suggested, and Shane let out a grunt of disagreement, but went with Ryan anyway.

"Frau is a magnificent dancer, isn't she?" Shane grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He was overjoyed to see a woman just as passionate about dance as he was. It was a form of art, and Shane found it beautiful.

Instead of directly answering his companion, Ryan blurted, "You don't think it's the slightest bit odd that she was dancing for  _ hours _ ?" He put his hands up in disbelief. "I mean, she hardly even moved her head that entire time!”

Shane shrugged. “Well, I suppose she did appear to be in some sort of trance.”

 

* * *

 

A few weeks had gone by and Frau was still at it. Since she started dancing, many people joined her. Just like Frau, each of the dancers looked strangely unhappy. The physicians had no other explanation besides “hot blood,” and claimed the only way for the fever to dissolve was to literally shake it off. Someone even hired a band so the dancers could have some accompaniment. Pretty soon, it seemed like the entire town was in on this dancing craze.

Ryan stopped by later that night to pick up the brushes he left at Shane’s place. He was nice enough to clean them for his friend and was drying them off when a knock sounded at the door. “Coming!” Shane shouted, and grabbed a tin cup to place the brushes in as he strolled to the door. 

“Have you checked outside?” Ryan questioned the minute Shane opened the door. “The entirety of Strasbourg is out there!” Shane nodded as his partner rambled on and on until he couldn’t take it any longer and held up a finger to shush him. 

“Let’s dance with them,” the taller man said, a hopeful glint in his eyes. The thought of dancing with Ryan, platonic or not, caused a knot to form in his stomach. He wondered if Ryan felt the same way, but it was too much of a risk to ask. If his friend cut all contact with him out of repulsion, both of their careers would be destroyed, and Shane was certainly not ready to live below the poverty level. “It’ll be fun, don’t you think? The band they’ve hired is very talented.”

Ryan gawked at him. “And what, get arrested? No thank you!” Shane sighed, realization washing over him when he noticed the flirtatious undertones of his suggestion. The other painter smiled sympathetically, however. “You know I would love to, Shane. I really would.” His voice lowered a few octaves, like he was trying to prevent others from hearing, even though they were alone. 

“Then let’s go,” Shane declared.

 

* * *

 

For a while, they danced with a good amount of space between them. They matched their steps with the soft beat of the live music and were more focused on their moves than each other. Shane was a natural; despite his long limbs, he was graceful in the way he swayed, sometimes doing a spin or sliding his shoes across the pavement. Ryan, on the other hand, couldn’t dance to save his life. He stumbled and tripped on his own toes, eventually falling over. “Let me help you,” Shane said through his laughter, and he helped the other man up. They linked arms and Shane began to guide him through the steps, simplifying his own moves to benefit Ryan’s inexperience. “Much better.”

The two danced for ages, alternating between embracing each other and just resting their hands on the other’s shoulders. The crowd surrounding them, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice, which eased Ryan’s anxiety slightly. He rested his head on Shane’s chest, feeling his heartbeat on his temple. A light blush dusted his cheeks, which only grew stronger when Shane pointed it out. Luckily, his cheeks were pink too.

“Are you tired?” Ryan asked after a while, but Shane shook his head. The pace of the music was speeding up and so were Shane’s feet. He let go of Ryan to turn around a few times and snap his fingers to the beat. He gestured for Ryan to follow suit, and he did the best he could, but his fatigue was becoming unbearable and he clutched his head, dizziness overtaking him. “Shane- exhausted-” he gasped. “Can we just take a rest?”

The taller man didn’t seem to be listening; either that, or he didn’t care. He looked just as distracted as Frau had, with a glazed look in his eyes and his gaze fixed on the sky. He grabbed Ryan suddenly, holding him tight, and pressed a brief kiss to the top of his head. In any other situation, Ryan would’ve enjoyed that, but all he wanted to do was squirm away and lay down. He was seeing spots and yanked harshly on Shane’s shirt collar as to warn him, but clearly, it didn’t do much, as his vision got cloudier and cloudier, until he couldn’t see at all.

 

* * *

 

_ Paris, France circa July 1522. _

 

“Painting again?” Madame Madej asked, letting herself into Shane’s office. He grunted in response, tearing his eyes away from the wooden panel. Julia kissed her husband sweetly and grinned. “You need to give it a rest, Shane. You’re always working so hard.” She pinched his paint-covered cheek and sighed, craning her neck to admire her husband’s work. 

Tonight, Shane was painting a man clad in elegant clothing with his hands pointed towards the clouds. A lazy smile played on the man’s lips and his black hair was messy and pointing in all directions. He was looking lovingly off to his left, where Shane was working on a taller, lankier gentleman, with the same foolish smile as the other man, but his eyes were filled with dread and guilt. Surrounding them on the cement pavement was at least three dozen dead daffodils. “It’s alright,” Shane assured his wife. “This will be my last piece.”


End file.
